burst from the gate, their structures unfolding as they exited wormspace, blocking his escape. Behind him more fighters emerged from Grzyb Station as insomniac Russians logged on in response to the dreadnought heist. The star system map shimmered red as enemy ships converged.
“Khoder?” JD said, voice louder as an edge of desperation crept in.
The jumpgate quivered and pulsed. The Seal Team Dix flotilla emerged from the hidden depths of wormspace—frigates, destroyers, and a Strugatsky Ultracannon, surrounded by a cloud of smaller vessels.
“About time,” JD said under his breath.
“Chill, bro. Sound issues; had to restart.”
Khoder led the fleet in his Khaw crusher and tug—an unconventional warship. It resembled four linked spikes, lined with laser cannons and plated in industrial-strength armor, with enough engine power to haul a midsized space station. The gap between the four spikes glowed pale blue as Khoder powered up the magnetic crushing field. The Khaw’s spikes spread apart as it flew directly at the largest AF destroyer, swallowing the enemy vessel like a colossal mouth. Brilliant flash of light as the destroyer’s reactor casing broke apart under magnetic pressure and the ship collapsed in on itself. The sphere of light churned until there was nothing left but condensed scrap metal. The Khaw was normally used for salvage work, but it didn’t care if the ships it crushed were still operational.
JD’s dreadnought picked up speed as the two factions engaged in battle—laser fire, plasma bolts, and tachyon torpedoes streaking across the dark.
“Thanks for the assist.”
“Thank me with money, bro,” Khoder replied.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your share,” JD said. “Once this dreadnought is out of the way, Grzyb Station is all yours.”
Khoder cut the connection, and JD floated steadily toward the jumpgate, while behind him a system burned.
* * *
Julius Dax dropped the soft cotton eye mask onto his bed, and the simulated universe of VOIDWAR turned ghostly as diffuse dawn light burst through his contex. Outside the room’s small window, Neo Songdo looked rendered in parallax: black shadow of low-rise apartments in the foreground, a smear of greenish city in the middle distance, and layers of distant towering skyscrapers in shades of pink and gray. JD rubbed the bags under his eyes, skin dark, flesh tender. He rolled from his bed and stood, genuine pain flaring sharp inside his knee.
He kept VOIDWAR running at fifty percent opacity, watching the repossessed dreadnought hop through jumpgates on autopilot as he picked through the roughly person-shaped mound of clothes piled on the bed beside where he slept. After a quick smell-test, JD changed into the least-dirty clothes he could find: his favorite deconstructed-reconstructed jeans, patched, paneled, and pieced together in a dozen shades of gray denim by automated sewing machines his old friend Jess had hacked together for shits and gigs; a sleeveless black shirt; solar and kinetic charging utility vest; and an old windbreaker, waterproof apart from the right shoulder where the weight of his ancient leather workbag had split the seam, exposing the rough polyester lining within.
Dropping down to sit on the edge of his bed, JD picked up his controls just as the dreadnought reached Zero—the game’s central system. Countless ships traversed the space around the binary suns, and the chat window crawled with requests for help from rookies and the perpetually struggling. Zero Corporation’s HQ hung in the very center, the twin stars blazing in orbit around the titanic space station. Quiet awe gripped JD still, no matter how many times he passed through the sector.
With autopilot disengaged, JD took the ship in on manual, hands gripped casual to stick and throttle, his left foot bouncing on the cheap low-pile carpet as he tried not to watch the clock. The dreadnought built up speed slowly, engines flaring white-blue against the dark of space. Courier frigates passed him on the way to the jumpgate, and loose fleets of sworn enemies flew together toward Zero Station—weapon systems disabled by corporate mandate.
Alpha sat to port and JD let the sun’s gravity slingshot him on a course aimed right for the station. The colossal structure reappeared suddenly from behind the star and resolved in sequence, textures popping into place. The surface bristled with residential outcroppings, automated defenses, and communications arrays. Buried in the center of the station were Zero Corporation’s in-game holdings, their vaults, resource silos, and their massive fleet—every ship and resource built from finite digital materials mined by a player within the game.
Manufactured scarcity helped keep the value of ZeroCash high, higher than many “real” currencies, and staked out